


Last Call

by fab_fan



Series: Drunk Words - Sober Thoughts [12]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, The Author Regrets Everything, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fab_fan/pseuds/fab_fan
Summary: The four walked into the living room, Abigail's spine as straight as an arrow, jaw clenched and shoulders stiff.She was in her dress uniform.Anacostia pointed at the couch, “Sit down.”“I think we’re good.” Raelle’s eyes narrowed, “What’s going on?”Scylla knew before the words even left her mouth, “It’s Henley.”
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: Drunk Words - Sober Thoughts [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755784
Comments: 63
Kudos: 192





	Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after every single Drunk 'Verse story. So...go read those first.

Raelle let out an exasperated breath, her body sinking further into the cushions of the couch as the air came out in a slow frustrated whistle. She stretched her legs out as far as they could go and hooked her arm behind her head to help act as a pillow, her neck starting to pinch a bit from the awkward angle. She squinted at the papers propped up against her chest, the small type blurring together.

Why did they have to write it so small?

A pair of glasses plunked down on her nose.

“You really need to start wearing these, Raelle.”

Raelle let the papers drop as she adjusted the crooked lenses and opened her mouth to reply, but Scylla continued before she could make a sound, “Yes, unless you decide to let someone fix your eyesight for you, you need your glasses.”

“It’s because they make the print so small.”

Scylla lifted up her wife’s legs and sat down, letting them fall back onto her lap, “Wait until you actually try to read the fine print.”

Raelle shot her a half-hearted glare, “I do not remember having sex for you to be this sassy.”

“Maybe if you wore your glasses, you’d be able to see enough of me to have sex with.” she rubbed Raelle’s shin and flipped open the book she’d carried in from the backyard, her own glasses showcasing hypnotizing blue.

Raelle pushed up onto her elbows, “I have my glasses on now.”

Scylla’s eyebrow ticked up noncommittally as she started reading.

Raelle dropped her legs to the floor, setting the papers aside and spinning around onto her knees. She crawled the short distance toward Scylla, the brunette doing her best to hide a grin at the other witch’s antics. Raelle playfully squinted, lifting up her glasses and then letting them drop back onto her nose, “Yep, just what I thought I saw.”

Scylla turned the page, “And what’s that?”

Raelle leaned in and kissed her cheek, “The most beautiful woman in the world.”

She couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corner of her lips.

Damn that Cession charm.

Raelle carefully reached out and plucked the book out of Scylla’s hands, making sure to mark the page before laying it down on the floor. Scylla turned her head just in time to meet a sweet kiss.

She tasted like her morning coffee and a hint of the melon she’d snagged from Scylla’s breakfast bowl while Scylla was looking the other way.

Her hand came up to rest against the side of Raelle’s neck, eyes fluttering closed as Raelle pushed into her, taking her time, savoring every second as her body gently guided Scylla down until only her shoulders rested against the arm of the couch, the rest of her laid out across the cushions.

One of the few perks of Henley being away at War College.

They could take as long as they wanted.

No chance of an interruption.

Scylla skimmed her palm down and across Raelle’s back, grasping the slightly wrinkled black fabric of her shirt as lips broke away from her own to brush a path to her ear, teeth tenderly nipping before a tongue soothed and a nose nuzzled the spot that made her breath hitch in her chest. 

“Still want you more than anything.” Raelle rasped.

Scylla shuddered, the familiar flash of desire sparking like it always did. Her leg curled around her wife’s hips, “Good thing I’m using you for sex.”

“Good thing.”

She gave a quick tug, “Shirt, Rae.”

Raelle reluctantly placed one more kiss before leaning back. She locked eyes with Scylla, biting her lip at the need swirling in darkening blue depths, and lazily reached for the first button.

Scylla watched it ever so slowly slip free.

Then the second.

“Damn it, Raelle.” she growled, fingers diving in to quickly undo the rest, earning a chuckle from the blonde.

Why did she have to wear that shirt today?

The chuckle turned to a gasp when a hot mouth kissed the white line over her heart.

Raelle weaved her fingers into Scylla’s hair, massaging the back of her scalp as Scylla paid special attention to the scar that could still cause nightmares and questions of _what if_ on the darkest of nights.

Raelle kissed the top of her head tenderly, burying her nose in the alluring strands, getting lost in the fresh clean scent of the new shampoo Tally had sent them to try. Her hips rocked as a tongue wetly traced the outline of her breast.

A firm knock at the front door was not what either wanted to hear.

“Ignore it.” Raelle gasped.

Whoever it was could come back later.

Much later.

Probably tomorrow.

The knock sounded again, this time even harder. A swift pounding that echoed throughout the house.

Raelle’s head fell back in irritation as Scylla drew away, looking at the door. 

A third knock.

“Let me up, Rae.” Scylla patted her side.

The visitor was not going away.

“Damn it.” Raelle cursed, climbing off the couch. 

Whoever was there had better have a really damn good reason to be there.

Scylla stood up, straightening Raelle’s collar as the younger witch haphazardly did up the buttons of her shirt, not caring that she left the top few undone, a hint of her normally covered scar peeking out. Satisfied that the blonde was presentable, the couple marched over to the door, Scylla straightening her own shirt as Raelle harshly swung the barrier open.

Abigail Bellweather and Anacostia Quartermaine stood on the other side.

Raelle rolled her eyes, “I already told you I’m not helping with the study, Abi. Did you seriously bring Anacostia here to plead your case?” She gestured at her former commanding officer, “Aren’t you retired, too?”

“Raelle,” Abigail spoke evenly, something hidden in her tone.

Scylla popped up behind Raelle, “Hey Abigail, Anacostia.” She pinched Raelle’s hip, “We didn’t know you were in town.”

“I swear, Bellweather, if you drove all the way down here to…”

“Collar.” Anacostia cut in. 

Raelle blinked at the abrupt tone and use of her old name. 

Anacostia always used Ramshorn-Collar.

Ever since she got married.

Always.

Scylla stepped into Raelle’s side, all amusement gone from her features.

Something was wrong.

“What’s going on?” Scylla asked, looking straight at the woman who had somewhat taken her under her wing so long ago.

Neither would fully admit to how close their relationship had become, how important, but both knew it. Respected it. Cherished it.

Anacostia tilted her chin, “Let’s talk inside.”

Scylla felt a chill go up her spine. She blindly reached for Raelle’s hand, the blonde giving it willingly as she frowned at the pair on their stoop, eyes going back and forth between the two.

Abigail refused to meet her friend’s eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” Raelle bit out.

“Inside, Collar.” Anacostia’s tone brooked no arguments.

Scylla felt like she wasn’t controlling her movements, almost as if she were slowly becoming a spectral being, someone else taking over as she watched the scene play out. She tugged Raelle back, letting their friends, their family, enter the home.

The four walked into the living room, Abigail's spine as straight as an arrow, jaw clenched and shoulders stiff.

She was in her dress uniform.

Anacostia pointed at the couch, “Sit down.”

“I think we’re good.” Raelle’s eyes narrowed, “What’s going on?”

Scylla knew before the words even left her mouth, “It’s Henley.”

Raelle’s head whipped around, “What?”

Scylla stared straight at Anacostia, “How bad?”

Anacostia shifted slightly, posture erect but there was something in her eyes, something Scylla hadn’t seen in years.

Not since a discussion when she was still a teenager.

A discussion that led to a drunken night in a bar and a funeral.

“How. Bad?” Scylla barked.

“There was an accident.” Anacostia spoke quietly.

“Accident?” Raelle piped up angrily. “Hen’s in War College. As a Necro. What...did she get a frickin papercut? Get lost foraging mushrooms.” 

“Raelle,” Abigail spoke up.

Raelle’s hand shot up, “Where’s my daughter?”

Scylla slowly felt the world dropping away.

A coldness descended upon her, enveloping her, numbing her to everything but a smoldering ember slowly coming back to life in the pit of her belly. A fire suppressed years ago, dormant, not kindled since she was young.

Since she knew what true hatred was. 

True pain.

All because of the army.

Anacostia pursed her lips, “From what I’ve been told, Henley was participating in an upper level exercise simulation. The course focused on utilizing the energy of the recently deceased to create an improvised combat device which…”

“A bomb.” Scylla swallowed thickly. She blinked as Raelle’s jaw worked in confusion, “They were making a bomb.”

Anacostia gave one solid nod, “A fellow soldier miscalculated the amount of energy present.” Her mouth trembled as she paused, “Henley was near the blast site and realized what was about to occur. She,” Anacostia took a breath, visibly forcing herself to remain neutral, “she warned those nearby and saved another soldier who was within the blast radius.”

“What does that mean? Where...where is she?” Raelle’s words shook, “Is...is she at the...the infirmary on base? We can leave right now. I can take care of this. What...what did the fixers on site do?”

“Raelle,” Abigail stepped forward.

“What did they do?” Raelle ground out viciously.

“They tried their best, Rae.” Abigail’s eyes glistened. “She was too close.”

Raelle swayed, the words cutting through her like a Camarilla’s knife.

“I’m sorry, Raelle.” Abigail whispered. “There was nothing they could do. They got her stabilized but...”

Raelle’s eyelashes fluttered, her mind not comprehending, Abigails’ voice fading out. 

_Too close._

_Sorry._

_Too close._

_Nothing they could do._

It didn’t make sense.

Henley was in War College.

Nowhere near combat.

She wasn’t even a Blaster.

She was fine. Safe. Abigail was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. 

She was a necro.

They stayed in their labs, barely even ventured outside.

How couldn’t she be fine?

She slowly stumbled back a step, only Scylla’s hold on her hand stopping her from falling. The words echoed in her mind, suddenly weak legs threatening to collapse under her weight as everything inside of her crashed to a halt, time itself stopping.

_Too close._

_Too close._

_Too close._

_Nothing they could do._

“That’s fucking bullshit!”

Abigail’s gaze whipped around.

Scylla stood there, seething. Her entire body shook as she sneered at them, “Bullshit.”

“Scylla,” Abigail started.

“No!” Scylla’s voice rose, “My daughter is going to be fine.” She glared at Anacostia, her eyes burning like the very depths of hell, “You are not taking her away from me. _Not her_.”

Anacostia didn’t move, stoically absorbing the verbal daggers.

Abigail opened her mouth.

“If you say one more thing about how _nothing more could be done_ I swear to the goddess it will be the last thing you ever say.” Scylla snapped at her. She breathed heavily, anger so fierce it was palpable in the air, igniting the room and making its occupants feel that one small spark would make it all erupt in flames. 

A faint rumbling could be heard.

“Take me to her.”

Abigail tried again. She offered her an understanding glance, “I’m sorry, Scylla.”

“No,” Scylla shook her head. “My daughter is smart. She’s strong.” Her voice was venom as it spat at Anacostia, “You told me Raelle was dead once.” Her eyes cut to Abigail, “That you both were.”

“The mycelium...”

“Everyone left Raelle for dead. You left her for dead.” Scylla’s hand sliced through the air, “That is my daughter. If I have to go to the farthest corner of the underworld, I will. I am not letting the damn _army_ take one more person I love. Not Henley.” She spun on her heels and stormed toward where her shoes sat patiently waiting, “Where is she?”

Anacostia and Abigail watched silently as she jammed her feet into her shoes and ripped the keys out of the bowl near the door. 

Noticing no one was following her, Scylla marched back to the group, shoes slamming into the floor, “Raelle.”

Raelle took a moment to peer over at her, eyes hazy, unclear.

Scylla swallowed back the rush of grief tinged fear that bubbled up at the sight, “We need to go get Henley, Raelle. Come on.”

“It’s too late, Scylla.” Abigail tried. “Our entire medical unit tried…”

“It’s not too late!” Scylla grasped Raelle’s hand. “Get the hell out of my house, Bellweather.” She pressed her fingers to Raelle’s cheek, turning her head so they were eye to eye, “Raelle!” 

The sharp voice seemed to knock Raelle back into focus. She blinked, the dazed look gone, focused determination shimmering in her blue orbs, “Keys. We need the keys.”

“I have them. We can take the interstate.”

“Back roads are quicker. There will be traffic.” Raelle countered.

“She’s not going to wake up, Scylla.” Abigail’s words rang in the air.

Scylla bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

“I went myself when I first heard.” Abigail looked at the couple. “I saw her. I was with her. The fixers did all they could. There was too much for her body to handle.”

Scylla turned away, hand tightening around Raelle’s.

They had to go.

Now.

“She was brave. Like you always wanted her to be. She saved people.”

_Anger burned bright, “How dare you. Raelle,”_

_“Helped people,” Anacostia cut in. “She helped people, Ramshorn. You know better than me how she could fix others. How she protected others.”_

“Shut up!” Scylla whipped around so fast it made Abigail’s head spin, her throat barely choking out the words past the tears she never noticed had broken through and were streaming down her face. She roughly wiped at her cheeks, “Is she still alive?”

Anacostia took a deep breath as Abigail’s shoulders slumped.

“Is. She. Alive?” 

“Her body is.”

“Then we’ll find her mind.”

“Scylla,”

“Don’t tell me she’s gone.” Scylla croaked, words shivering but unyielding, “I am not going to another funeral. I am bringing _my daughter_ home.” She turned her back on her friends, “We’re wasting time. Time you should have spent watching out for her like you said you would.”

Abigail’s mouth snapped shut.

Anacostia finally spoke up, “I’ll drive.” Her eyebrow twitched, “I’m not going to have you two in an accident while we go to help your kid.”

“Anacostia,” Abigail murmured under her breath.

Anacostia strode forward, “Let’s go.”

* * *

Raelle raced down the hallway, Scylla at her side. A few people darted out of their way, frowning at the couple clearly not in uniform nor adhering to polite distinguished protocol.

Raelle reached the room first by half a step. She wrenched open the door, vaulting through. Wild eyes roamed about.

Which bed?

Which bed?

“Capt. Ramshorn-Collar!”

Raelle swung around, coming face to face with one of her former staff, “Where is she?”

The sergeant grimaced, “Ma’am…”

“Where the hell is my kid?” Raelle strode toward the lines of beds, “Where’s her information?” 

“Down on the right,” the woman jogged after her, glancing at Scylla, “Martins has the chart.”

“Where the hell is Martins?” Raelle stormed along the beds, eyes scanning each one as she passed.

Where was she?

“Raelle.”

Raelle blinked at Scylla’s voice, stopping and following her line of sight.

There.

Near the very end, two beds before the last.

Henley.

Scylla was already running.

Raelle pushed away from the white coat clad witch, following her wife. 

“Oh goddess.”

The blonde skidded to a halt, her legs nearly buckling at the sight.

She looked so pale.

Bruises marred her face, turning every inch of it black and blue. Her hands, resting on top of the starchy blankets pulled up to her gown clad waist, were mangled, barely looking like hands at all.

And yet, she laid there, like she was sleeping.

She looked like she was just taking a nap.

An invisible hand clawed at Raelle’s chest, gripping her lungs so tight she couldn’t breathe, closing around her throat and choking her.

Henley.

Her daughter.

Her kid.

Hers and Scylla’s.

She looked so small.

Swimming in the too large gown.

Like she had when she was little, sometimes wearing a nightshirt that swallowed her up but which she adored because it was from her Uncle Byron.

Scylla cautiously touched the thin edge of the gown covering the young witch’s arm. “Henley.” Her words trembled, “Honey.”

Blinking, Raelle swiftly went to the otherside of the bed and knelt down, “Scylla, don’t touch her.”

Scylla met her gaze over their child’s body.

Pursing her lips, Raelle refocused on Henley. She pressed her hands to her chest and closed her eyes, letting her breath slow, searching for the beat of the other girl’s heart. 

_Ask and it shall be given to you_

_Seek and ye shall find_

_Knock, and it shall be open unto you_

She frowned.

Why wasn’t she linking?

She tried again, repeating the familiar chant quietly.

Nothing. 

“We’ve tried that, ma’am.” the sergeant spoke up. “Did the best we could. Got her stable, but her body and mind couldn’t handle the trauma. Col. Henson thinks that’s why we can’t link past that. She’s so far gone, there’s nothing left to link with. The injuries are too extensive. To be honest, she’s still touch and go now. No idea how she’s still here.”

Raelle blinked, taking this in.

The injuries were too extensive? 

Stiffening her spine and tensing her muscles in anticipation, she gave herself a slight nod.

Canon wasn’t working.

She’d try a different way.

_Ask and it shall be given to you_

_Seek and ye shall find,_

Instantly a fire ignited in her veins. Flames burned her from the inside, melting her flesh and blackening her blood into a scorched stream of lava.

It hurt.

Oh goddess, it hurt.

She grit her teeth, face twisting in agony.

_K-Knock and it s-shall be open...unto you._

“Raelle!”

“RC!” 

“Captain!”

Hands grabbed at her shoulders. She tried to shrug them off, twisting in their hold.

She had to keep going. 

She couldn’t stop.

“Raelle!” arms wrapped around her and fingers dug into her chest. She was suddenly ripped back, the connection instantly severed.

No!

“Let me go!” Raelle wrestled to free herself.

“Raelle! Raelle, stop!” Scylla wrapped her legs around her, using her entire body to hold her back, “Raelle.”

“I...I can do this.”

“Raelle, please.”

Unable to break free, she slumped in Scylla’s arms.

“Damn it, Captain.” Martins stood at the end of the bed, chart in hand, “You can’t do that.”

Raelle bristled, “Why did you stop me?”

“Raelle, you were screaming.” Scylla rasped.

“What?”

“What the hell were you doing?” Scylla ground out, “You haven’t done that kind of fixing since basic.”

Raelle blinked.

“You were taking the injuries completely on yourself instead of using the dispersion linking method.” Martins looked at her in awe and concern.

She only knew about that type of healing in theory.

Raelle leaned back into Scylla.

She had started to heal Henley.

She could feel it.

Knew it.

Scylla rested her forehead against Raelle’s back, “Stop, baby.”

“I can do this, Scyl.” Raelle whispered.

She could help Henley.

Help their daughter.

Martins cleared her throat, “It took five of our best fixers to even get her this far, and we don’t know how they were even able to get her to this state considering how close she was to the blast.” She tapped her toe, “If you try doing that on your own, ma’am...try taking on all those injuries...you’re liable to kill yourself.”

* * *

“No.” 

Col. Henson scratched the side of her thin face before folding her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair, her overly wide desk covered with stacks of folders, Henley Ramshorn-Collar’s spread out in front of her, “Mrs. Ramshorn-Collar…”

“I am not leaving Henley here.” Scylla bit out. 

“We have the best medical resources in the state.” The colonel countered. “Pvt. Ramshorn-Collar needs constant care, constant supervision. Ma’am, your daughter is in a coma. As it stands, she has little to no chance of gaining consciousness. I would recommend...”

“I know Henley’s condition.” Scylla growled lowly, her teeth almost bared, tone full of ice, “I have sat in that infirmary every day. I have read that folder in front of you more times than I can count.”

“So you understand…”

“I understand Henley is not staying in a military facility where the only reason she is even still being provided medical care is because we are here making sure she is.”

The officer bristled indignantly, “Ma’am…”

“You gave the order to stop her heart.” her hands shook with rage. “If someone hadn’t told us, you would have had one of your staff kill my daughter. She is the only patient, and you didn’t want to waste your precious resources on a lowly War College student.”

“My decision was based on the likelihood of her recovery and quality of life.”

“Your decision was based on the army not giving a damn about the lives of its soldiers, of witches.” her fists were clenched so tight her tendons trembled.

“Ma’am,” the colonel began to stand up, the tall women towering over Scylla, “Henley Ramshorn-Collar is a private in the United States army, and, as such is under the military’s command.”

Scylla was on her feet in an instant.

Before Henson could say another word, a body came flying past Scylla, all but vaulting over the desk and shoving the officer up against the wall.

Raelle jammed her forearm under the other witch’s throat. “Get the hell away from my wife.”

The officer grappled with Raelle’s arm, sputtering as she fought for air.

After a moment, Raelle moved back, releasing the woman and dropping to stand next to Scylla.

“Col. Henson.” Abigail Bellweather stood in the doorway, “A word, please.”

The colonel sneered at the couple and rubbed her sore throat.

“Colonel!” Abigail bellowed. As the soldier walked toward her, she glanced at Scylla, “I’ll take care of this. Please, Scylla, don’t move Henley. Use the resources we have. Please. Anything you need. Anything.” She shot a glare at Henson, “My office.”

The officer was removed from her post within the hour.

* * *

Allison hunched over the bed, cradling her girlfriend’s hand between her own as she watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath. Hair bundled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few shower slick strands curling down to frame her face, she bit her lip as she heard the clack of footsteps. She knew it wasn’t one of Henley’s unit mates. They’d left a few minutes ago, unable to get out of class.

Allison didn’t care.

She would skip every class and every training if it meant being able to stay by Henley’s side.

She lovingly brushed a few locks of dark hair behind Henley’s ear, knuckles caressing her cheek as she pulled back. She marveled at the contrast, her darker skin somehow fitting perfectly against the pale white of her girl’s complexion. She bit the inside of her cheek. Henley liked to say she had fixer’s hands. Thought it was a compliment. And, maybe it was.

Henley said Allison made her feel safe.

Made her happy.

Made her feel like everything would be ok.

Allison wrapped her hand back around Henley’s.

They weren’t making her ok now.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away.

Putting a brave face on, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to find one of the medics wanting to before a cursory exam or try to kick her out for being there too long.

Instead, she saw Scylla and Raelle Ramshorn-Collar.

Henley’s parents.

They stood a few paces away, hands at their sides, Scylla’s tucked in her pockets, almost a person size width between them. Neither looked good. Their clothes were rumpled. Dark circles were under their eyes and wrinkles were more visible than ever across their saddened faces.

An air of melancholy seemed to hover around them, like a dark invisible cloud.

“Mrs. and Mrs. Ramshorn-Collar.” Allison tried to smile but couldn’t.

“Hi, Allison.” Scylla greeted.

Raelle offered a wobbly half grin, “How’s our girl doing today?”

“Good. The same.” 

Raelle nodded as Scylla stepped forward, reaching out and touching one of Henley’s stiff sheet covered legs, “Hi, honey.”

Allison knew she should offer to leave. Let the parents have time with their child.

But, she couldn’t.

She didn’t want to leave Henley.

“How are you doing?” Raelle asked quietly, not moving closer.

Allison shrugged, “Henley hasn’t changed much. Thought we saw some movement earlier, but the fixer on duty said it might have been a random twitch.” The fixer actually thought they were seeing things, but Allison and Henley’s friends refused to give in. “Her vitals are steady, though. I was thinking of getting some of her books. Reading to her. I know she’ll be upset when she wakes up if she gets too far behind.”

Her loveable nerd.

“She was asking about you, Allison.” Scylla spoke up gently.

Allison frowned, “Oh. Well...I’m...fine.”

Both adults raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

It was uncanny how Henley did the same thing.

Allison bit the inside of her cheek harder, chewing on the soft flesh, “I…” a suddenly overwhelming crushing wave of sadness slammed into her, “I...miss her so much.” She bit hard enough to taste copper, “She was fine. I saw her at lunch. She was drinking tea and talking about how we should get peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner even though they don’t serve those in the commissary, and...and she was fine.”

She didn’t know she was sobbing until warm comforting arms enveloped her. 

She turned into a coat clad shoulder, gasping, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Scylla soothed, rubbing her back as Raelle crouched down beside the chair, “It’s not _your_ fault. _You_ didn’t do this.”

“I should have been there. I...I’m a blaster...I know explosives.”

“Hey,” Raelle placed a hand on her knee, “it’s ok, Allison. No one blames you. No one. There was nothing you could do.”

Allison tried to pull back and wipe at her eyes, but she was suddenly exhausted.

The hand on her knee gave a squeeze, “Come on, let’s go.”

“What?” Allison sniffled.

Scylla helped the young witch stand up, “When was the last time you ate?”

“What?” Allison was not following, head fuzzy.

Scylla guided her around the chair, “Raelle needs a cup of coffee, and neither one of us remember how to get to the Commissary. Could you take us there?”

“But…”

“Come on,” Raelle angled her head toward the door, “I want to know if the coffee is still as terrible as when I worked here.”

Allison nodded, “Ok.” She took a few steps forward, the parents hanging back half a step, both casting one last look at their daughter, silently vowing to come back, before blinking away any sign of sadness and following the still crying girl.

* * *

The water pounded down on her shoulders, almost bruising in the harshness. The water was scalding, turning her skin a deep searingly angry red, each droplet a burning bullet that slammed into her body, cutting and beating the vulnerable flesh.

Scylla barely felt it.

Choked sobs cascaded from her lips, churning deep in her chest and tearing through her throat, scorching and stabbing with each gasp.

She leaned her head against the misted tile. Her body shook, and her voice ached as a primal scream ripped from somewhere so dark and helpless it sounded like a wounded animal. The force of the muffled cry clawed at her soul.It wrenched out of her, echoing in her mind, her mind feeling nothing but the pure agony that gripped her heart in a vice so strong it could barely beat without sending another burst of crushing torture through her being.

Outside the bathroom, Raelle sat curled up next to the closed door, one knee shoved up to her chest as she quietly wept, flinching at each mournful wail her wife let out.

* * *

Scylla dunked the tea bag in the cup of boiling water.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Her eyes followed the movement, locked on the small piece of string tied to the bag, watching the steaming water swirling and tiny droplets pepper the rim as the clear water turned a darker shade of brownish black. 

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

A miniature whirlpool began to form, waves spreading out from the epicenter.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

The water was now a bitterly bleak black.

A hushed creak broke the silence.

She slowly lifted her head, not looking over her shoulder, not turning around, her lips pressing together as she glanced at the window.

It was raining.

The slight pitter patter tapped methodically against the smudged glass, wet streaks staining the corners.

There was no thunder. No lightning. No gusts of wind.

Just rain.

Releasing a sigh, she let the tea bag slip from her grasp, the tiny string draping over the rim of the porcelain mug. She picked it up, taking a tiny sip.

It was still too hot.

Setting it back down, she watched the rain continue to fall.

It was silent once again.

Too silent.

No laughter.

No loud voices.

No jokes or teasing or the sound of someone thumping into something.

Just silence.

Face flickering, she pressed her lips harder together, the pale pink turning a bloodless pale white.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned around, hands sliding into the front pockets of her jeans. She took one step forward, then another, till she reached the doorway to the kitchen.

She peered out toward the rest of the house.

She didn’t see Henley spread out on the couch, necromancy book covering her face as she took a nap. She didn’t see a little girl gleefully twirling in from the backyard, dirt stained and grinning, proudly displaying her mud caked hands that had found another mushroom that she would balk at eating. She didn’t see a sheepishly yawning teenager traipsing down the stairs, the clock far past midnight, in search of a cup of tea and her mom’s patient ear. She didn’t see a young woman standing proudly in her shiny new uniform, crisp and polished, ready for War College. 

Instead, she saw Raelle, frozen in the middle of the living room, glasses dangling from her limp hand, staring down at the floor. 

At nothing.

“Raelle?” Scylla’s hands curled into fists in her pockets.

Raelle seemed to startle, shaking her head as she looked up at Scylla, “Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

Her eyes squinted in confusion, “Uh...I was...looking for my glasses.”

“They’re in your hand.”

She peered down, “Oh. Yeah. Right.” She looked back up, but her eyes seemed to drift to the side, not landing on Scylla, “Did you want some tea? I can make you some.”

“I already did.”

“Oh.” she nodded, “Ok.” 

Scylla glanced at her one more time before turning around and going back into the kitchen.

She picked up her tea and took another sip.

It was still too hot.

* * *

Scylla took her time going up the stairs.

It was late.

Twilight had long since passed.

Reaching the upper landing, she took steady measured steps, pacing herself, the journey to the bedroom seeming to take forever yet not long enough.

She forced herself to not think about the second bedroom a few more steps away.

Her feet paused as she reached the open door.

The lights were off, the greyish bland strips of moonbeams from the quarter crescent barely breaking through the open window, a lack of any sort of breeze or outside noise unsettling against her skin. Raelle was curled up on her side, face hidden in her pillow, sheets wound loosely around her hips.

A strange feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. An anxiousness that she couldn’t quite pinpoint as to the cause...or the solution for. Ignoring it, Scylla tip toed in, stripping off her clothes and quietly changing into a pair of pajamas. A holey sleeveless shirt that was likely Raelle’s once upon a time and which revealed the galaxy of freckles her wife loved to map out as they laid in bed together along with a pair of light cotton shorts. She eased onto the bed, gracefully slipping under the cool sheets and propping herself up on her elbow.

Facing her wife’s back, she bit her lip, taking in the way her hair fanned out over her face. She needed to get it cut soon, it was getting longer than Raelle liked. Tentatively reaching out, she brushed the blonde strands back, revealing a sharp jaw, old scar somehow more pronounced in the rickety moonlight. Her finger hesitantly traced the thin white line. It trickled down, ghosting along her neck and skipping over the outline of her shirt collar. Scooting closer, she leaned over, hand skimming between Raelle’s breasts, fingers coasting over the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, coming to settle where her shirt revealed a sliver of skin before the waistband of her shorts.

A calloused palm covered hers.

Eyelashes flickered, opening to reveal grey blue eyes, and Raelle turned over.

Scylla didn’t look away, searching the once soulful blues that now were coated with something impenetrable. Something that might have reflected in her own eyes if she looked in the mirror. She tilted forward, pressing her forehead to Raelle’s, breathing in deeply as their lips drew close. 

Her fingers stroked the small patch of skin, teasingly dipping lower. 

She ducked in for a kiss.

Raelle’s chin dropped, Scylla’s lips landing on her cheek.

* * *

Raelle reread the report on what happened during the combat exercise. 

Reviewed the list of injuries sustained. The diagnosis. What each fixer had done and when. She pored over the notes Scylla had made in the margins, tiny scribbles about the seed used, how it worked, the power it held. Words that were only the tip of the iceberg of research Scylla had thrown herself into.

She chewed on her bottom lip, hands itching to do something.

She looked up from where she was pacing to see Scylla sitting next to Henley, back to Raelle as the older witch’s full attention focused solely on the young soldier.

An unmoving statue that had taken up residence in the medical ward.

Raelle turned back to the pages in her hands. The same hands that almost burned with the need to link, to heal her kid.

She unconsciously rubbed the tip of her index finger against the pad of her thumb. 

She thought back to when she first tried to heal Henley.

She had felt it. Had started to take on the injuries as her own.

The injuries had started to transfer to her instead of dissipating into the surrounding atmosphere. A give and take of power that she knew wasn’t taught in the hallowed halls of Fort Salem.

Was more like what she practiced back in the Cession as a teenager.

That transfer...that taking on of someone else’s pain...

That hadn’t happened since...before the mycelium.

_“Not an option.” the folder snapped shut, “Based on the level of trauma your body sustained during the War, your injury from your first mission, and the unknown effects of the mycelium, I highly recommend against it.”_

Unknown effects of the mycelium.

The mycelium that had connected with her...became a part of her.

The mycelium that kept her alive in China years ago. 

That absorbed the injuries and illnesses she attempted to invoke as her own, that saved her when death became imminent.

She looked back up at her family.

At her daughter.

Her mind raced.

* * *

The hallway was long, the first floor of the officers’ building large and imposing with its colonial architectural elegance. The painted walls were freshly coated and no scuff marks were visible on the hardwood floor, most likely the hard work of first year cadets as penance for minor infractions that caused their training officers’ headaches.

Anacostia Quartermaine could feel her own headache forming, and the rhythmic clicking of her heels was not helping. 

She was exhausted.

What was meant to be a retirement where she could finally learn how to relax and enjoy a quiet evening on her back porch watching the sunset and sipping a cold drink had turned into a nightmare she never envisioned happening.

Henley Ramshorn-Collar was unique.

A sometimes infuriating but always charmingly endearing blend of her mothers, the young woman had taken hold of the former soldier’s heart with one look. The second Anacostia met her, swaddled in a pretty purple blanket and looking like a gift from the goddess as her parents cradled her close with hushed smiles that rivaled the sun itself, the witch knew she would do anything she could to take care of the newest addition to the slapdash family she had found herself unwittingly a part of. 

Anacostia could remember the way Collar held the baby so gently, so overcome with joy that her nerves took a backseat to the chance to see her daughter slowly blink open her eyes. She recalled how Scylla, tired but content, tenderly gazed down at the child fast asleep on her chest.

Scylla Ramshorn and Raelle Collar.

Two people who, at first, vyed to be the bane of her existence.

Only to become two women she cared about more than she would ever fully admit to.

The thought of the young woman lying prone in the infirmary, a young woman who had wormed her way into Anacostia’s heart from the moment they met, who Anacostia had silently vowed to always take care of, was breaking hearts in a way the former soldier knew Henley never wanted to.

Henley Ramshorn-Collar.

Anacostia understood the price of service. That there were no guarantees in life. No such thing as fairness or luck.

But, if she were to ever believe, she would use that belief to help the soldier she saw as a grandchild.

Anacostia felt her own heart shudder as she heard raised voices from down the hall. She quickened her pace, shoulders tightening as she heard something slam onto Abigail's desk.

According to the Bellweather, she had offered Scylla and Raelle her office as a spot to take a moment away from the infirmary they all but set up camp in.

Anacostia rapidly approached the open door, coming to a heart wrenching stop in the frame.

“What did you want me to do, Scylla?” Raelle shouted, gesturing wildly.

“You promised me.” Scylla seethed, voice cold as ice, “You promised me you would protect her. That she wouldn’t join.”

“I didn’t think she would!” 

“She wanted to be just like you. If you hadn’t stayed...if you’d left like you said you would…”

“What? What, Scylla? Henley wouldn’t have enlisted?” Raelle pointed at herself, “I had nothing to do with her enlisting.”

“No, of course not, Raelle. It’s not like all of your friends were in the army. It’s not like you have pictures everywhere of you in your uniform.”

“I never wanted her to enlist!”

“You encouraged her!” Scylla snapped, eyes blazing, “I told you I didn’t want her to ever be like that. I told you I never wanted my child to be in the army. All the army has ever done is take away people I love. They kill everyone they touch.” 

“She didn’t tell me!” Raelle smacked her fist against the desk, “We decided _together_ to support her.” Her words stuttered in her chest, “You..you think I wanted this?”

“Our daughter is in that hospital bed because she wanted to make you proud.” Her voice dropped to a growl, “I fought my entire life so she wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be anywhere near this place. I fought so my daughter would never wear that damn uniform. What did you do?”

Raelle turned away from her, striding a few steps before whipping back around. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her entire body seemed to deflate, every ounce of willpower within her seeping out, “Just say it. Say what we both know you’re thinking. You think I don’t know? That I can’t save my daughter? That I have healed so many people, and I can’t heal her? You think I don’t know that?”

_“Raelle.”_

_“I can do this. I can keep her safe. Just like I promised.” Raelle vowed._

Scylla exhaled, pressing her fingers against her forehead, “Raelle,”

Raelle waved her hand at the door Anacostia stood at, eyes not leaving her wife, “I don’t know what to do anymore, Scyl. I don’t. I can’t bring her back. I can’t...I promised to protect her, and I failed. I didn’t keep her safe. The only thing I ever wanted to do, and I didn’t.” Her lips trembled, “Is that what you want to hear? That I failed? Well, I did. Like everyone always thought I would.”

“Raelle,”

“You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me anymore.” Raelle choked out. “You won’t talk to me. You’ve completely shut me out.” 

Scylla’s chin quivered, “Don’t put this on me, Raelle. You won’t touch me. You won’t even look at me.”

“Because she looks so much like you!” Raelle cried out. “She looks like you, and all I can think about when I see you...is that you hate me. Because of her. Because I wasn’t a dodger or Spree or anything but what I was always going to be.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Raelle scoffed.

Scylla’s hand fell to her side, “I still love you.”

Raelle looked down at the desk, “I’m not sure you do.”

A silence fell on the room.

“How can you say that?” Scylla whispered.

“How can I not?” Raelle croaked guiltily. “I lied again, right? I broke another promise.” Her words little more than remnants of an obliterated soul, “I didn’t protect her.” Her words barely made it out, “When I asked you...to have her with me...I said I’d keep her safe. And, I didn't.”

Clearing her throat loudly, Anacostia knocked on the doorframe, “Raelle, Bellweather is looking for you.”

Scylla didn’t look over as Raelle took a moment before nodding and quietly left the room, not looking up once or saying another word as she pushed past the older woman and marched down the hall.

A few yards away, Abigail and Tally turned a corner, both relieved at the sight of their friend, “Raelle…”

Raelle kept walking, forcing the two to do an about face and rush to keep pace, “You still have that house up on the Cape, right?”

“Yes,” Abigail frowned in confusion, “it’s been in the Bellweather family for generations. We summer there.”

“Offer to let Scylla stay there.”

“What?” Abigail pulled her to a stop. “What’s going on?”

Raelle stared off to the side, agitation causing her to shuffle her feet, “Tell Scylla you want her to stay up there. Make up some excuse, I don’t care what.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because she can’t be in the same house that Henley grew up in.”

She couldn’t be surrounded by memories that were nothing more than mocking teases of a once happy life. A once happy family.

“And being here is...it’s hurting her.” Raelle barely got out, more grit than anything in her voice.

Abigail blinked warily, “Oh.” She tilted her head, “What about you? Why don’t you take her up there? I can get you the keys right now.”

Raelle swallowed thickly, “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

Raelle finally looked at her, tears starting to fall, “We...we need to ...not be together right now. She needs to not be near me right now.”

“That’s not true, Raelle.” Tally spoke up, concern causing her brows to knit together. “You know that’s not true.”

“She won’t accept it right off the bat.” Raelle continued. “Don’t give up. It’ll help her to...to not have to be surrounded by everything for a while.”

“Hey,” Tally took her hand, “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.”

“What? Lose my entire family?” Raelle sniffed, “Already done, Tal.”

“You haven’t lost your family. Scylla is here. Henley is still here.”

Raelle pulled away from her, “Yeah. Sure.” She glanced at Abigail before walking away, “Once a shitbird, always a shitbird, right Bells?”

“Raelle,”

Raelle didn’t turn around.

Back in the office, Anacostia carefully stepped inside, gingerly closing the door behind her. Scylla didn’t look at her. The younger witch crossed her arms tightly over her chest and leaned back against the wall, head dropping and hair tumbling around her face and shoulders.

Anacostia took her in, wetting her lips as she processed what she had unwittingly stumbled upon.

She had seen cracks forming. Could sense the toll this was taking on the couple. Knew would take on the couple.

She never thought it was like this.

“Are you going to say it?”

Anacostia shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, “And what, exactly, is it I am going to say?.”

Scylla huffed, “How I’m being unreasonable. Being cruel.”

“I don’t think that.” Anacostia shook her head, “I think you’re in an impossible situation. You both are.”

Scylla inhaled wetly, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth to hold in the sob burning the back of her throat.

Anacostia took a gentle step forward, “Do you remember when Collar decided to not seek a discharge?”

Scylla’s arms twitched as her muscles tensed.

“You were afraid she was choosing the army over you. That she would leave you.”

“I was afraid she would be killed.” A sarcastic chuckle, “Instead, the army killed,” her voice shook, trailing off, unable to finish the thought.

The _my daughter_ still rang loudly between them.

“I told you Collar was loyal. That she loved you.”

“What are you saying?”

“That I know what is happening is difficult. I cannot ever fully understand how difficult this is for the both of you. But, Scylla, you’re focusing that pain on the wrong person.”

Scylla finally looked at her, eyes red, jaw locked, “I’m not focusing on the wrong person. _I know_ who put Henley in that bed.” Her teeth grit, “Everyone said she would be safe. The war was over. The army is different now.” She glared through glassy tear filled eyes, “All the army has ever done is take witches and chew them up and spit them out. The army never cared about who was wearing that god damn uniform. Warm bodies and nameless faces. Send out someone else to fill the spot left by whoever died.” 

“It was an accident.”

“No,” Scylla shook her head, “it wasn’t. Where was the instructor? Where was anyone else? Anyone to notice what was happening? Why was it _only_ her?”

Anacostia’s shoulders dipped slightly.

“She never should have been anywhere near that.” A tear silently slipped down her cheek, “I know what seed they were using. It wasn’t safe. That seed should have _never_ been used. It’s barely controllable by witches with years of experience. _I_ never would have used it. But, the army doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that they put witches in harm’s way for nothing more than another way to get everyone killed. To fight wars for civilians who won’t fight it for themselves. To get someone another shiny stripe on their shoulder, not giving a damn if it was dangerous because as long as you’re not a High Atlantic with a bunch of medals pinned to your chest you don’t matter.” Her jaw worked, “Seems like Alder never left. ”

Anacostia stared sadly, “Henley saved people.”

“Of course she did.” Scylla sniffed, “Goddess, she’s so much like Raelle. Of course she ran in head first, not caring if she got hurt. And, just like with Raelle, no one else cared.” Her teeth gnashed together, “I knew this would happen. I knew it. I told you. Everyone said she’d be fine. No. Not until witches stop fighting wars. I did _everything_ so she wouldn’t be here. Everything.” She shook her head with a sneer, “The army killed my parents. They tried to kill Raelle. They killed…” she choked back more tears, “If I see that uniform one more time, if someone says these things happen, I’m going to burn this place to the ground. _The army did this._ ”

“I know you’re in pain. You still need to hold on to the part of you that’s good.”

“The part of me that's good is lying in a hospital bed unable to wake up.”

“Is that the only thing?”

Scylla stared at her, shivering.

“You know what it’s like to go through grief alone. To let that anger inside of you turn into something dark. You don’t have to do that this time.” She shrugged, “You have to forgive yourself at some point. It wasn’t your fault what happened. It wasn’t Raelle’s. And, knowing that girl’s parents? You and your wife are the two most powerful, loyal, irritatingly stubborn witches I know. If anyone were to come back to their family, it would be Henley.”

* * *

The bottle tipped dangerously, the fiery liquid pouring down her throat and wetting her lips, a few droplets sticking to the corner of her mouth. She gulped it down, mind already so hazy with guilt and grief she didn’t notice the earth start to spin.

Coughing, Raelle dragged the drink away, the nearly empty bottle sloshing through the air as she blearily tried to stumble away from the tree she was leaning against, the bark rugged and fierce against her back, her body feeling sticky and gross after a long day spent in the infirmary, the smell of disinfectant and dull air weaved into her clothes and sweat speckling her hair. 

The entire world was spinning, but she didn’t know how.

How was it spinning when her entire world was gone? Was slowly leaving her, one tick of the clock at a time?

Her feet tripped over each other, and she tilted to the side, barely catching herself before she tumbled to the unforgiving ground.

“Raelle?” Scylla stood where the tree’s large overarching branches created an opening, allowing access to the hidden secret world within. She rushed forward as Raelle swayed, “Goddess, Raelle.”

“Scylla?” she slurred, lashes fluttering rapidly.

Scylla held her up, catching her weight as she began to topple, “Damn it, Raelle.”

“‘S ok, Scyl. ‘s ok.” Raelle drawled, “Imma figure it out. Promise.”

Scylla wrapped an arm around her waist, balancing them both, disappointment coating a chilling concern etched in her voice, “You’re drunk.”

“No’m not.” the bottle slipped from her weak fingers. “‘M ok.”

“No, you’re not.” She tested taking a step forward, Raelle’s weight growing heavier. “You need to get to bed.”

“‘S our tree, Scyl. Mine an’ yours.” Raelle followed clumsily, “Mine an’ yours and imma make it ok ‘cause I love you. I’m figure it out.”

“Figure what out, Rae?”

“Bring ‘er back.” Raelle tripped, “Make ya happy ‘gain.”

The bitterly cold burning pain struck her without warning at the blonde’s words, “Raelle,”

She nuzzled Scylla’s temple, “You’re my wife. Said I would...would make ya happy. Promised.” A tear dripped onto her cheek, rolling down to land on Scylla’s shoulder, “Promised ya.”

Scylla swallowed back her own emotions, “Shh, Raelle. You make me happy.” She rubbed her side, “We’ll figure it out together.”

Raelle hummed.

* * *

Scylla turned off the lights in the kitchen, rubbing at her tired eyes as she padded towards the bedroom of the tiny apartment Glory was letting them use near base so they didn’t have to drive so far. She paused as she sensed someone nearby. She peeked over to see Raelle by the front door, tying her shoe laces, jacket on and clearly not in her pajamas.

“Raelle?”

Raelle stood up, “I’m going out for a bit.”

“Where are you going?”

Something seemed off.

A shrug, “Around. Out. For a drive.”

Something was wrong, “It’s late.”

“I won’t be long.” 

Scylla studied her for a moment.

She didn’t know why, but she felt uneasy. 

She didn’t want Raelle out alone.

“I’ll go with you. Let me get changed.”

“No,” Raelle shook her head, “It’s ok. Go to sleep. You had a long day.”

“Raelle…”

“I’m sorry.” Raelle blurted out. 

Scylla straightened at the unexpected outburst.

“I’m sorry about the other day.” Raelle continued. “I didn’t...I love you. I’m sorry for yelling. I don’t...I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”

“I don’t either.” She stepped up to her, lightly taking hold of her jacket, “I love you, too. I’m sorry, too. This isn't your fault, Raelle. It’s not.”

Scylla watched Raelle stare at her, the gaze heavy, meaningful, like she was memorizing her.

Committing her to memory.

Then, without warning, Raelle leaned in, catching her lips in a kiss that made her heart skip a beat. Scylla pressed into her wife, tugging her closer, holding on to her jacket as tender hands cupped her face.

A spark of warmth danced in her chest.

A spark she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

A spark that nipped at the burning coldness that had settled in her veins.

Raelle slowly broke the kiss, “Prettiest gal around.”

Scylla felt tears well up in her eyes, “Always trying to charm me, Collar.”

“Ramshorn-Collar.” Raelle corrected. Her throat bobbed, “Think I might like to marry you.”

“What does your wife think about that?”

“Have you met my wife?” 

Scylla tugged again on her jacket, “Stay here with me tonight.” Everything inside of her was telling her to keep Raelle close. To not let her go.

Raelle kissed her forehead, “Go to bed.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Raelle kissed her cheek, “Know that, no matter what happens, I love you.”

Scylla felt the warmth die out at the vow.

Her mind flashed back to the first time either one of them uttered those words.

The Bellweather wedding.

When Scylla chose Raelle over everything. Over her own life.

The blonde slid out of her grasp before she could react and was out the door, the wooden barrier clicking shut behind her.

A heavy boulder settled in the brunette's stomach.

She peeked over to the coat hooks pasted to the wall.

Raelle had forgotten her keys.

* * *

Raelle slowly approached the bed, the lights dimmed in the late hour.

She eased herself down onto the chair next to the bed, taking a shuddering breath as a broken smile trembled against her lips, “Hey, Hen.” She peered down at her daughter’s face, so peaceful in the faint shadows of the overhead lights. 

Her daughter.

Hers and Scylla’s.

She rubbed her hands together, thumb pushing into the palm of her left hand, “I want you to know I love you. And, I’m proud of you. You and your mom are the best thing to ever happen to me. And, no matter what, I am always going to love you and your mom. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. And, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for...for everything.” She took a cracked breath, “You and your mom are going to be ok. I promise. I’m never going to break a promise to you, Henley. Your mom is going to be really mad. But, it’s ok. It’ll be ok. Give her a hug for me, ok?”

Nodding silently to herself, Raelle carefully placed her hands around the base of Henley’s throat.

Taking one more breath, she began to chant under her breath, not hearing the panicked footsteps rushing into the building.

_Ask and it shall be given to you_

_Seek and ye shall find_

_Knock, and it shall be open unto you_

**Author's Note:**

> So...it looks like we may have reached the end of this wild ride. Thoughts?


End file.
